//------------------------------// // Chapter 8: Downfall // Story: Morrow // by Aurora //------------------------------// Not since the return of Nightmare Moon had the sky been this dark and foreboding. The last line of defense against the incoming flood was rapidly dwindling—a single glance along the bank of the rapidly-swelling and raging river was enough to confirm this. One by one the little multicolored pinpricks of lights, generated by the glowing horns of a long string of unicorns, went out, smothered by the ever-encroaching dark of this seemingly endless night. Rarity could feel it, too: that curious, all-pervasive feeling of fatigue that wasn’t entirely corporeal. A sense of being drained of some fundamental essence. An unpleasant sensation of emptiness, like a gaping void growing within, hollowing her out from the inside. Overuse of magic was the cause of this growing discomfort, as nearly every unicorn in Equestria discovered sooner or later over the course of their life. Like normal, physical pain, these sensations were intended as a warning: Her body was telling her to stop before something was irrevocably damaged. But she couldn’t stop. Not now. She had to persevere. At first, it was just because she didn’t want to be shown up by that insufferably tenacious Applejack (even if it meant biting her tongue to keep from complaining even a teensy, entirely reasonable little bit in the earth mare’s presence). At this point, however, far less petty reasons motivated Rarity. Through tremendous willpower, she was still able to summon forth the energies needed to cast her simple-but-crucial spell. She had to keep searching for usable rocks beneath the soil, she simply had to... It helped that it was her signature spell—one her horn had been especially attuned to casting, even at a tender age. But even then Rarity knew that she, too, was scraping the bottom of the mystic barrel, leaving her mind feeling like a muscle stretched and strained beyond endurance—a muscle that felt like it might rip and tear itself apart at any given minute. And still the cruel, unrelenting rain kept beating down. Rarity couldn’t recall ever feeling quite this utterly drenched, and that was saying something—the showers she tended to take were considered legendary. Her vaunted, elaborate coiffure was now but a straight, waterlogged mop, constantly getting in her eyes and muzzle and weighing down her already-heavy head. To make matter worse, the viscous muck beneath her hooves felt like it was trying to actively devour her legs, rendering every step a struggle to pull free. Her designer rain-boots, of course, had been among the first victims it had claimed. And she was so very, very dirty, so utterly encrusted with mud from the bottom up... She couldn’t even bear to think about it, preferring to focus on the task at hoof, lest her near-pathological need for cleanliness ended up getting the better of her. She could get cleaned up later, she kept telling herself. Her fabulosity could be restored given time, her ruined raincoat replaced. And so she set her jaw and soldiered on, grim and stone-faced, impervious to dreck and downpour, steadfastly ignoring countless little whine-worthy aches and woes, turning despair into strength through sheer, bull-headed stubbornness. And all because she couldn’t forget… Because she had seen the look in Applejack’s eyes. Eyes that were normally so stern and so full of determination; eyes she had expected to remain clear and undaunted, and which she had looked to for strength, when her own reserves were running thin. Little could have prepared her for the barely-restrained look of panic she had found instead. Whenever they tried to pierce through yonder trees to catch a glimpse of her imperiled home, they had been filled with doubt—even fear. The genuine pleading note in the proud mare’s joking request to ‘hold down the fort while she was gone’ hadn’t been lost on Rarity; in fact, it had very nearly broken her heart. She had been expecting their usual banter, laced with playful jabs… And only now realized how much she relied on it, how much she missed it... And that’s why she had to keep going. Because, if their pillar of strength was failing, somepony else had to shoulder the load. Because she couldn’t bear to see her friend in such a bad way. Because she wanted, more than anything, to see hope and strength rekindled in those green eyes. Most of her Ponyvillean peers had already reached their limit, though. Their magic utterly spent, they had fallen by the riverside one after another, panting and desperately trying to recuperate, even if only to relieve their equally-struggling friends for a few minutes at a time. Looking askance, Rarity spotted two vaguely-familiar-looking mares who seemed to have given up entirely. Bedraggled and miserable, they were sitting on their haunches in the midst of it all—a catastrophe on a scale they could scarcely even have imagined—their forelegs wrapped around each other in an intimate but desperate embrace. One of them was crying; she could tell by the way her small frame was convulsing, softly but pathetically. Rarity paused, feeling pity for their plight. She probably ought to be yelling at them, trying to snap them out of it... They needed all hooves on deck to have any hope of sufficiently strengthening their hastily-constructed dam, after all. Especially now that they were fast running out of sandbags and were being forced to improvise... But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. In her (hopelessly romantic) mind, they were young lovers; just two ordinary fillies who had felt obligated to participate in this seemingly-forlorn attempt at saving their little village. Like most of the ponies here they had probably enjoyed a sheltered existence—just like Rarity herself, up until a few years ago. The sight of an errant fluff of cloud, moving of its own accord, or of an innocent little plant growing where it wasn’t wanted, would probably already be enough to disturb them. And yet, they had volunteered for this, and had probably given it their all. But they had been ill-prepared to face the full extent of nature’s wrath, when it was unfettered by the artificial order imposed upon it by ponykind—something they had probably taken for granted all their lives. And to make matters worse, they had run out of the one thing they might use to hold the chaos surrounding them at bay: their magic. If she could have given them some of her own, she would have. In a heartbeat. But alas, she was running on sparks herself, so the struggling pair would have to settle for a bracing smile. The young mare who was comforting the other nervously reciprocated. Even from a distance, Rarity could see that she was trembling, and not just from the cold. There was genuine terror in her eyes, an unmistakable expression of fear and awe on her pretty, grimy face. And who could blame her? After all, the poor thing had only just finally managed to tear her eyes away from the malevolent clouds above, only to be met with the equally-intimidating sight of another force of nature right next to her. Rarity, for one, certainly wouldn’t hold it against her. Following the other mare’s gaze, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of fear herself, despite the fact that was looking at one of her closest friends, whom she trusted completely. Because whenever she got like this, Twilight Sparkle really was quite a sight to behold. Shading her dark-adjusted eyes with a hoof, she looked over at the other, infinitely more powerful mare, who was floating several hooves above the ground in a violet bubble of raw, swirling magic. This rippling, transparent shell painted the bleak night all in shades of purple and white, as little arcs of magical discharge danced across its surface, crackling in the rain-soaked air to vie with the distant thunder. The pools of ethereal light that had once been violet eyes were aimed heavenwards, gazing up at their shapeless foe with cold and calculated defiance. “RARITY,” an inequine voice boomed suddenly, startling the downtrodden fashionista, who had stood idly staring. “Please, I beg of you darling,” she said breathlessly, clutching at her pounding heart, “don’t ever do that again.” “SOR—” The two ghostly lamps blinked out briefly—”Ehehe, s-sorry. But I really need you to keep looking. I don’t think Applejack is going to ever get those wagons moving again; not in these conditions.” Rarity nodded. “There,” she said curtly, putting on her business-face and pointing out the spot she had been surveying earlier. “There are a few boulders buried below a number of thin layers of sediment. Be forewarned though, they’re pretty hug—” “I’ve got it,” Twilight cut her off. Narrowing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she pointed her at the spot Rarity had indicated. There was a deep rumble, and then the earth beneath her hooves began to crack, prompting Rarity to quickly hop aside. “Nnng...” The droplets of sweat that formed on Twilight’s forehead glistened with the vibrant colors of her intense magical aura, and her whole body shook, as though her fragile mortal shell could barely contain the immense magical forces she was channeling whilst she tore out the very bones of the earth. Gulping, Rarity watched as a massive rock—easily twice the size of the one she had once mistaken for her destiny—burst from the already-pockmarked ground with a wet, squelching sound. The gaping hole so created quickly began to fill up with water, but she was more concerned with the faint, looming circular shadow the weightless stone cast as it levitated past, wanting to keep it was far away from herself as equinely possible. With visible effort, Twilight directed the boulder over to the barricades and piled it atop the rest. Breathing heavily, even the Element of Magic needed a moment to gather her strength after so many nonstop telekinetic feats. She hardly even noticed that she was descending; only when her hooves touches the mud did she realize the aura enwrapping her was slowly collapsing in on itself. “Just—Just need a moment to—” “Twilight, you...” Rarity said softly, shock clearly legible in her expression. The note of alarm in her voice startled the winded unicorn. “What, what?” Instead of replying with words, a clearly disturbed and speechless Rarity reached up and touched her own nose. It took a while for Twilight to understand the intention behind this gesture and do the same. When she did, she was shocked to find traces of blood on her hoof when she drew it back. Her blood. She stared at the smear of dark-red fluid for a while, watching as it was washed away by the rain, drop by diluting drop. A revolting, metallic taste soon touched her lips, as the thin stream of blood from her nose managed to trickle all the way down her muzzle. The light in her eyes died there and then. She felt very weak all of a sudden, and was forced to drop to her all four knees in the mud, feverishly trying to stem the bleeding. “Twilight!” Rarity said sharply, rushing over to the collapsed pony’s side. “I’m fine,” Twilight assured her, holding up a shaky and bloodied hoof. “Just… just a small nosebleed.” She laughed nervously. “Must’ve overdone it a little bit...” Rarity quickly tore off a little of what remained of her shredded raincoat and offered the piece of fabric to the bleeding mare, who accepted it gratefully. “A little?” Rarity was fuming now. ”Darling, I told you you should take the occasional break, just like the rest of us...” “I know,” came the sheepish reply. Twilight managed a weak smile. “I’m… sorry...” Rarity wasn’t satisfied with such feeble apologies, however; she felt like telling Twilight off, not just for her blatant disregard for her own well-being, but also because she was such probably their most valuable asset, not to mention the de facto leader of this entire doomed operation. But she never got the chance... Twilight had already fainted. Upon realizing this, even Rarity’s indomitable spirit gave in to despair. Twilight had been by far the most powerful of them, and even she had been defeated by the elements. She slumped down next to the fallen mare, propping Twilight up against her side to keep her from falling face-first in the mud. Huddled up with her limp and unconscious friend like this, Rarity felt terribly alone all of a sudden, extremely small and insignificant in the midst of all this unstemmable turmoil.   After all the storms—both literal and figurative—they had weathered together, after all the fearsome foes they had faced, it seemed to Rarity the epitome of laughable irony that a few angry clouds would eventually be the thing to do them in. But this was no ordinary Everfree storm—of that, she was certain. The dark clouds overhorn moved through the sky with startling, predatory speed, writhing and seething in a way that was strangely unsettling—like they were living things, vast, bloated, vaporous titans crowned with lightning and roaring with thunder, rather than unassuming masses of airborne water-droplets. As the roiling innards of the monstrous cloud directly above flickered with white-hot lightning, Rarity was reminded somehow of an enormous, shapeless, bioluminescent creature from the ocean’s uttermost lightless depths, signalling its agitation, its intent to kill... She wasn’t quite sure where this association had come from—perhaps one of those documentaries Twilight used to make them watch whenever it had been her turn to arrange for movie-night? She didn’t get much chance to ponder this further, however, as, mere moments later, while a fierce clap of thunder still rang in her already-deadened eardrums, her eyes were treated to an even more horrifying sight: a small speck of color burst out of the bottom of the flashing cloud, trailing smoke as it plummeted straight towards them. Narrowing her eyes to be able to spot a bright tail that had been set ablaze, and a tiny set of uselessly-flapping, burning wings, it wasn’t long before Rarity realized the obvious. She wasn’t the only one, either; several other ponies were looking up, too. There was a flurry of frantic pointing, milling about and screaming. “Twilight!” she hissed in desperation, shaking the mare next to her. “You have to wake up! Please wake up...” Even in this wretched rain, she could tell that tears were running down her cheeks. They burned her skin through her pelt, hot with impotent fury. Despite knowing that it was utterly pointless, she pointed her horn at the crashing pegasus. If she could just slow them down the tiniest bit… It might mean the difference between a broken leg or a broken spine. But she couldn’t find it in herself to hope for this, or any other outcome... She had none left.